Phantom Sequel: AKA too much time on my hands
by TO Phan Girl
Summary: I have way too much time on my hands, but here is my phantom of the opera sequel. Read if you want, but be warned, I read way too many romance novels and this gets a little steamy.


Chapter 1

Christine's nerves had gotten bad since that night at the opera, six months earlier. Raoul had hoped that leaving behind the ghost would give them the opportunity to make a fresh start, but that was not to be the case. The paleness of Christine's visage only worsened with the coming weeks. Her sleep went from being fretful to being filled with nightmares. They were not yet married, as he hoped for her to recover fully prior to their wedding day.

He maintained a respectful distance until she recovered, getting daily reports from her maid. Most days Christine would sit quietly by the fireplace, reading to herself. She no longer sang. Noises bothered her, it was the quiet she needed. She had begun to develop debilitating migraines, such that, when she was not sitting quietly, she was lying in darkness willing away the pounding in her temples.

Raoul could no longer deny that her problems warranted serious help. The doctor he had consulted recommended psychiatric consultation, but Raoul knew his family could never allow that. He settled instead for regular visits from the local priest. Father Mansart was a trusted family friend who was known for his discretion and would help bring his love back to him.

Christine had grown to hate visits from Father Mansart. It was not that the old man was cruel, but she was painfully aware that his fact finding missions would be repeated verbatim to her fiance and his brother just as her maid's reports were. She felt very… observed, a feeling that left her cold to Raoul's caresses and only served to worsen her condition.

The migraines – oh, how she hated them! The pain started as a low dull ache that forced her to close her eyes against day light, fireplaces, even candles. Soft noises sounded like thunder to her ears. She would take to her bed and close her eyes, try to take her mind somewhere dark and soft where her senses were caressed not obliterated.

_Softly… deftly…_

The memory of music that soothed and seduced filled her mind. The memory of music that took her to heights unknown and left her suspended as if on air took her away from the pain.

_Music shall caress you…_

"Erik…" she whispered to herself. She opened her eyes. Her migraine was gone. "Oh…"

Erik had given up his home under the opera. Once it had been discovered, he knew that he would never be able to live their peacefully again. Fortunately, he had acquired a sufficient degree of wealth over the past ten years as an opera ghost that he could easily purchase ten homes in the most fashionable districts of Paris. His instincts told him to purchase a home in the country, where he could not be bothered, but Erik was an artist. He wanted to be open to operas, architecture and museums. He would never be able to walk around freely in daylight, but the nighttime was his friend and he could easily visit these haunts under the cover of darkness.

The home he settled on was not large, but it had a yard set away from the street so that he was hidden in his home from prying eyes. Also, he had no desire for houseguests or even servants. A large home would require regular cleaning. His three bedroom home gave him all he required, plus it was inexpensive enough to leave him with enough funds to last him for a very long time.

A solicitor, long in Erik's employ, had arranged for the purchase of the home and the movement of his furniture, but Erik had not lived above ground for a long time. He was unused to the basics required – food for example – musical and scientific supplies. He could not ask his solicitor to buy him food and music paper. Eventually he realized he would need a go between. He found assistance in the kindly hand of Madame Giry. The visit to his old friend had not gone as well as he would have liked.

"Madame, I was unaware you were in the position to turn down a generous salary at the present moment. Can you afford not to accept my generous offer?"

"And what makes you think I would help you, Erik, after all that you have done?" She surveyed him coldly.

"My dear Madame Giry, I understand your fears. But I am reformed, I swear." He smiled at her bleakly. "Meek as a kitten."

"And yet you have not returned your extorted money, or turned yourself in to the police?"

"I am not that reformed." He smiled at her scowl. "Oh do not chastise me so. Your foolish managers were more than compensated for their loss of theater by the extensive insurance money. I daresay I've made them very wealthy."

"Yes, but they now lack a leading tenor!"

"I think they always lacked that." He mocked, feeling a stab of regret for his impetuous actions.

"Do not mock me, Erik."

"I swear I am not. You know how sorry I am for those actions. I let them go, did I not? I have made ammends. Let Christine marry that foolish boy. I am reformed, I swear. Now please – you are in need of work until the opera is rebuilt. Just help get me acclimated."

"Erik, I know your life has been hard, but I need some reassurances that you have developed a conscience."

"What exactly are you asking, Antoinette?"

"Confession, Erik. I need you to begin spiritual salvation."

"Confession…" Erik recoiled at the thought. Church was a place for beautiful music, not for prayer. "You can't be serious."

"I am."

"And if I refuse?" Erik looked at her imperiously.

"I wish you luck in finding another liaison. I'm sure an advertisement in the Rue Scribe would work. I could just imagine it, 'wanted, one assistant to help deformed former opera ghost in day to day activities, some shopping required.'"

"Enough. I see your point. But how will you know that I have been as good as my word. I would frighten any priest with this alone." He indicated his mask.

"A confessional is anonymous, Erik." She smiled.

"Then how would you know I had done as you asked?"

"You are wicked man, Erik, but hopefully my old friend Father Mansart will change that." Madame Giry wrote down the name and address of a small Catholic church she had used since her childhood. "He will confirm whether or not these visits will take place, you can be certain of that."

"I am about to go to confession, Madame. I am certain of nothing at the moment."

Chapter 2

So it began. Erik made weekly visits to Father Mansart at the Church of St. Paul. A small church aways from the city proper. If nothing else, it gave Erik an excuse to get out of the house from time to time. With the ministerings of Madame Giry it was arranged that these visits would happen in the evenings after the parishioners had returned home.

Father Mansart was kind and old, but not insensitive to the real workings of the world. He had a sense of humor that Erik appreciated, but more so, he treated Erik like any other man. He was the first person in a long time, other than Christine, that made him feel guilt for his reprehensible behavior. Yet Erik knew the old man felt and guarded hope for Erik's eternal soul.

"I had long ago accepted that I would not be first on St. Peter's list to enter heaven." Erik commented blandly one evening.

"My son, the heavenly father does not make judgements of this sort until the soul has departed the body. He has hope for you yet."

"Than he is very foolish." Erik muttered causing Father Mansart to rebuke him.

This evening, Erik was early for the priest. It had begun to rain during his regular walk and he hired a hack, such that he was now a good twenty minutes early for his regular Tuesday evening appointment. Not wishing to be bothered, he waited silently in the confessional booth for Father Mansart to arrive. He began to hear voices and out of pure habit and boredom, began to listen.

"Please understand Messier, I cannot repeat your fiance's confessions. They are made in confidence. To break these covenants would be against my vows as a priest. I cannot gain her trust if she suspects I am telling her thoughts, her fears to you." Father Mansart was saying.

"So you admit, Father, that she is afraid of something…?"

Erik's heart stopped in its chest. He knew that voice. It was the voice that helped to tear out his heart on the rooftops of the Opera Populaire.

"I admit no such thing." Father Mansart sighed. "Raoul, I know it is fashionable for young men to think that women are property, but your fiance is a young woman who has been through a very trying experience."

_Fiance…_ Erik wondered. _They are not yet married?_

"You cannot simply expect her to recover fully overnight. In addition, your constant observations are only serving to create a rift between you. No one likes being watched all the time. If you expect your indicative of your marriage, I suggest you seek another marriage prospect, for you are both certain to be miserable for a long time.

"And what do your recommend I do?" Raoul asked with a certain amount of indignation. He did not appreciate Father Mansart's insinuation that he was not the right husband for Christine.

"I recommend that you allow Christine time breathe prior to the wedding. Perhaps she would like to travel. There are several health spas which she might benefit from visiting. Perhaps she has friends she could stay with that would help her to take her mind off of whatever is bothering her. It would be good for you as well, Raoul, it would give you time to think about whether or not this is the right thing for you to do."

"I know marrying Christine is the right thing to do. She is the most wonderful creature I have ever known."

"Then I know you will come through this unscathed. Will you consider my recommendations?" He asked, not without kindness.

"I will. Thank you, Father Mansart."

Erik could not believe his ears. Christine…unhappy? Oh, how he tried to banish her from his thoughts! Days spent frantically composing, experimenting and nights not sleeping as he imagined her making love to her new husband.

_And they are not yet married…_

How dare they not marry immediately? He could accept their marriage, because it was final. He could not, however, deal with the hope of knowing they were not living as man and wife.

_Not yet married…_

What of these circumstances Raoul spoke of? Not illness. If she were ill Raoul would consult a doctor, not a priest. It had to be something of an emotional nature. Erik was not terribly surprised. He had put them both through a horrible ordeal. He felt a pang of guilt and realized belatedly that Father Mansart's effort to repair his damaged soul must be working.

_Not yet married…_

Christine deserved happily ever after. She had given him the one kiss he had ever received and for that she deserved a life with a handsome prince. She had kissed the beast and now she deserved the beauty. Perhaps it was time he gave her the peace she deserved. Perhaps it was time to pay the future Victomtess de Chagny a visit.

When Raoul suggested that Christine visit a health resort outside of Paris, Christine nodded vaguely, surprised that he was willing to set her free, if only for two weeks.

"I have spoken with your friend Meg and she has agreed to accompany you on your journey. I hope you do not mind that I spoke to her beforehand, but I wanted to surprise you."

_Wanted to enlist a spy is more like it. _Christine thought to herself.

"I am… surprised… Thank you, Raoul. I will certainly enjoy the retreat."

"And if you are well when you return, we can discuss wedding preparations." He kneeled before her and kissed her hands. "I still long to make you my wife." Christine smiled down at him kindly and did not resist him when he kissed her lips with tender longing.

"And you my husband…" She whispered. "I am so sorry, Raoul."

"There is nothing to be sorry for, Raoul. We will both have our happily ever after. I just need time."

"As long as necessary." But in the back of his mind, Raoul waivered.

Chapter 3

It did not take Erik much time to find out where Christine would be going on her journey. His plan was simple. He would speak with her when she was away, at the beginning of her trip. He would make peace with her and she would return to Paris whole. He would repair the damage he had caused to her psyche.

He arranged for the journey through Madame Giry. She understood he would be going away and booked him passage in a private berth on a train to health spas of southern France where Christine would be journeying with Meg. He did not know that Christine and Meg were on the same train as he until he arrived the train station and he spied her with the young Meg Giry holding her by the arm. Christine was wearing dark glasses, although her abilities to bypass ground obstructions told him that she wasn't blind.

Meg whispered something to Christine, making her laugh lightly. Erik's heart skipped a beat at her smile. God, how he had tried to banish these feelings, only to have them return full force at her smile.

_You are not here to fall back in love. You are here to make your peace and give her back hers._

What was worse was she was staying the same car as him! The Vicomte had spared no expense in making sure Christine and Meg had separate cabins. It was impossible to sleep knowing that she was only twenty feet away from him. At 3 AM as the train chugged steadily along, Erik emerged from his cabin. He would only look at her, that was it. He would look in on her. Surely, she would be asleep and he would go back to his own cabin.

Ever so silently he turned the latch to her room. Swiftly, he entered, expecting a sleeping Christine.

"Meg?" Her voice called out to the darkness. "Meg is that you?" She sat up and he could see her.

The jig, as it were, was up.

"No, Christine. It is not Meg. It is me, Erik." He flicked a switch, lighting the cabin. He stood against the door, not wanting to frighten her with his nearness. Christine paid little head, and instead burst into tears.

"The lights, the lights. You must turn them off." She whispered fiercely. "Now, please!" Erik turned off the lights. His instincts in sharp contrast, longing to comfort her and longing to run away.

"Christine…" Erik whispered.

"What are you doing here, you foolish, you idiot!" Christine's voice was not loud, but the words were pointed and harsh. "Oh God." Erik could see she holding her temple in her hands. Something clicked – the dark glasses, her inability to sleep, her status as fiance rather than wife.

"Migraines." He whispered.

"Erik…" she responded. "I do not know what you are doing here. I don't particularly care. I need you to leave right now." Just then the train let out a loud scream and Christine began to cry again in earnest.

"Christine…" he whispered and decided to take matters into his own hands. He sat next to her on the berth. She tried to push him away, but the train let out screech and she bowled over, unable to continue. Acting quickly Erik placed one hand on the back of her neck and the other on her temple. He searched for pressure points and began to massage her temple, crooning low in her ear.

"Get away from me." She whispered through clenched teeth.

"Stop this and just relax and we'll see if we can get you past this." He began making stroking motions, drawing back from her forehead to her scalp. The motion was intended to soothe and it was not long before Christine's breathing became regular. She was still awake and he began to speak to her. "I am sorry that I frightened you." He murmured.

"What are you doing here?" She responded softly, becoming limp under his ministrations. "Are you following me?"

"I did board this train in an attempt to see you at the resort you will be attending, but I swear my motives were pure." He continued to ease the tension from her. "I heard, by chance, of your illness and I wanted to make peace with you. I am not here to kidnap you or in anyway harm you or your young Viscount."

"I do not believe you." Her voice was becoming fainter. She was succumbing to exhaustion.

"How long has it been since you've slept?"

"Two days." She whispered. She started in his arms, seeming to come back to her senses. "I think you should leave, now."

"Hush. Let me help you." He continued to touch her. "Be quiet, be deeply quiet. Listen to the sound of my voice, let it lull you. Let it take you to sleep." Christine gave up her struggle to stay awake, lying limp in his grasp. Erik continued to whisper to her until he was certain she was deeply asleep. Before he was tempted to stay longer, he left for his cabin.

Chapter 4

It was Meg that awoke Christine the next day.

"I am sorry to wake you, Christine, but we are almost there!" The young girl said excitedly.

"That cannot be, Meg. We are not scheduled to arrive until 3 PM." She said sleepily. The sun blinked at her in a friendly manner.

"Indeed, it is 2:00! I would have woken you, but I know you haven't slept well as of late. It seemed wrong to wake you. Oh, but I've rescued you some breakfast!" She pulled out two oranges and a croissant. "I hope this will suffice until dinner. We really do need to get you ready. I've already prepared myself, so let me help you." Meg smiled. "How is your head this morning?"

It was on the tip of her tongue to say it was fair, but then she realized that the pounding was gone. The sun did not burn her, even Meg's nervous chatter was pleasant.

"I am feeling much better, thank you." She smiled. Inside she was deeply troubled. Erik was here! He was here with her in Nice. What had he said last night?

_I am here to make peace with you…_

"Christine?" Meg's voice brought her back to the present.

"Yes, Meg?"

"I asked if you wanted to wear the yellow or the brown? You seem a thousand miles away."

"I'm sorry, just woolgathering, I suppose. I would love to wear the yellow."

"That is the Christine Daae, I know." Meg said and chattered happily about the spa they would be visiting.

Christine did not see Erik as she left the train, what she did see what a large woman wearing a very dark veil. She smiled sadly as she realized that he would never be able to do something like travel in the manner of a normal person. She forced her gaze away from his silently moving shape as she exited the train with Meg. She had no doubt that she would see him that evening.

Christine knew she should be frightened, but she was so relieved that she had slept through the night, that she could not find it in her heart to be angry. She concerned and confused, but not angry.

The spa was beautiful, on four miles of Ocean front. The sea was blue and vast and the sea air was refreshing. People were sitting in chairs on the ocean, reading and enjoying the warm sunlight. Christine longed to be among them and then felt another spurt of guilt when she realized who wouldn't be among the numbers of people below.

Meg was eager to take advantage of the pools of hot water in the area. She longed to keep her muscles limber during the cold months of inactivity.

"I still plan on being a prima ballerina, Christine. You will see."

"I don't know, Meg. I think you will fall in love on this trip, with some wealthy nobleman on vacation."

"Can you imagine? Me? A noblewoman?" Meg laughed. "I think I will leave the titled gentleman to you. I still long for the stage."

Christine smiled at her friends antics, her gaze suddenly drawn to a large shape moving quietly behind her and walking down the boardwalk.

That evening Christine retired early, claiming tiredness. Meg asked, concernedly, if she was suffering another migraine. Christine was very happy to say no, but still dreaded the evening to come.

She knew Erik would find her whenever she was alone. She went back and forth between wanting to meet somewhere out in the open and meeting him in her room where they could speak in private. In the end, she decided it would be best to meet in her room. She didn't need strangers to come across them while they were speaking. She dressed in a simple, modest blue gown and waited for him.

She did not have to wait long.

When Erik knocked she did not get up. She wanted to put space between them. "Come in, Erik." She said loudly enough so that he would hear her.

"Good evening, Christine." He whispered softly. He brought with him an arrangement of yellow roses. "These are for you." He indicated, offering her the bouquet.

"Thank you, Erik. I don't know how appropriate it is for you to bring me flowers."

"I understand your reluctance. Yellow roses, however, are the color of friendship. That is my only intention this evening."

"Are you saying you are no longer in love with me?" She raised an eyebrow.

"I would not insult your intelligence by saying so. I merely am saying that I except that our relationship can never be what I wish it to be." He indicated the flowers again and she took them reluctantly.

"Thank you." She smiled and smelled the flowers. The perfume was lovely and enveloping, but she placed them on the bed. "Would you like some water?" She offered kindly, pouring herself some.

"I am fine, thank you."

Christine nodded self consciously and sipped a glass herself. "Won't you have a seat?" she asked finally. Erik sat down, knowing it would make her more comfortable. "Thank you for last night."

"Chris…"

"I'm not done." She swallowed. "I still do not think it was right of you to spy on me, but I do appreciate you helping me to get over my migraine. I was in a lot of pain and you helped me to be rid of it. For that I am most appreciative."

"You are welcome. I apologize for scaring you. That was not my intention."

"I understand. Now, why is it you were following me?" The smell of the flowers had lingered in the room and was entering her nostrils, its smell overwhelmingly sweet.

"I was not following you, but I was coming to see you." Erik explained. "I had heard of your illness…"

"Heard?" She asked with a raised eyebrow. "How could you know of my illness without having spied on me, Erik?"

"I have recently, on the recommendation of a friend, been visiting with Father Mansart. It appears as though he and I have a mutual acquaintance. One evening, as I waited for him, he was meeting with your fiance. I overheard their discussion regarding you."

"I knew he would repeat my ramblings to Raoul." She said bitterly.

"No, quite the opposite. Father Mansart was most passionate about protecting your privacy. It was from your vicomte that I gleaned something was wrong. He mentioned your high level of upset."

"Indeed." She whispered and closed her eyes. The smell of the flowers was beginning to bother her.

"Christine," Erik leaned forward. "I understand what I must have put you through. I needed to make sure you are all right. I want you to be happy and it pains me to see you like this. How can I help you to overcome what it is I've done to you?"

Christine opened her eyes to see Erik kneeling before her. She was struck with a memory of Raoul in the same position. Then the pounding began.

"Erik…I think…I think…"

Erik's eyes widened. Her migraine had returned. Had the stress of his visit brought this on?

"You should go." She finished lamely.

"It has returned hasn't it?" He whispered, horrified.

"Not fully yet, but it is on its way. As I was saying, we can finish this discussion tomorrow-" She stood and reached for her water, accidentally knocking it over. "My goodness!" She dropped the ground and began to wipe it up when stars appeared before her eyes. Then, just as that first sign of it being bad appeared, the pressure was gone. Erik was beside her, massaging her neck and scalp. He lifted her in his arms and placed her on the bed. Moving away to quickly dim the lights, he returned to her side.

"How do you do that?" She whispered in wonder as the pain continued to subside.

"I spent much time traveling with gypsies. I learned of their many cure-alls, including migraines. The secret is applying pressure to certain points in the body including the neck and the scalp."

"Erik, I appreciate the flowers, but the smell…"

"Of course, my apologies." Erik quickly threw away the flowers, leaving them beside the door. When he returned to her, he brought a cool rag that he placed upon her forehead. She was sitting up now and looking at him, all barriers between them gone. "Christine, please talk to me. What can I do? What has happened to you that you suffer so? When did this begin?" He took her hand in his own and began applying at pressure points. Christine closed her eyes and leaned back. She could not resist his touch and the respite it brought her.

"It began three months after we left you. I was having bad dreams and I could not sleep at night."

"What were your dreams?" He asked softly. His made his voice very soothing. He wanted her to open up to him. His voice would allow her to open up to him.

"About you, about that night at the Opera Populaire, during Don Juan Triumphant." Christine was laying against the headboard, her eyes resting lightly. Erik began to apply pressure to her forearm, letting the tension ease out of her as she spoke.

"I am very sorry that this dream troubles you. What happens in the dream?" Erik moved behind her and began to apply pressure to her shoulders. She seemed unwilling to speak further.

"I – I'd rather not say." She whispered.

Erik knew that the only way she would be free of him would be to open up about her feelings. Like siphoning off a boil, excising these demons would only help to free her of her physical and emotional turmoil.

Erik began to caress her scalp, speaking in a soothing singsong. "Take me through the dream, Christine. Tell me. You will feel better. Tell me you dream and quiet your troubled mind. Let yourself be free of these demons." Erik knew she was in a light trance. Her breathing had become even and slow, but her eyes were still partly open. Erik prodded her… "You were at the opera –"

"We were singing Point of No Return. We were standing on the bridge above the stage."

Erik felt tears building, remembering how she had removed her mask for the entire audience. "Yes…"

"The audience disappeared and you and I were alone. You were singing in my ear and my heart was pounding." She swallowed. "You began to kiss me, on my neck. You were touching me."

Erik felt his sorrow growing, that she would have nightmares about his touch.

"You were touching me and I, I was enjoying it. Then we were naked and you were placing me on the swan bed. You began making love to me and then it wasn't you. It was Raoul and I was crying. I was crying because I wanted it to be you and it was him."

Erik had not stopped touching her, but he was holding his breath. What did this mean? Why was she having dreams about him? Did she desire him?

"I am here now." He whispered, not sure of what to say. "I am here now and you can relax." But she was crying now.

"It was him and I wanted it to be you." Suddenly she turned around. She was not fully awake, but she was aware. She grasped Erik's face and kissed him tenderly, hungrily on the lips. Erik tasted her tears as he slowly brought his hands up to her face, stroking it gently.

"Christine…" He whispered as he pushed her away. "I think you should go to sleep now." We can discuss this tomorrow morning.

"No, stay, Erik please stay with me tonight. Just hold me. I can't sleep without you."

"Hush." He ordered and she obeyed. Erik resumed his massage of her neck and scalp, singing to her softly. It was not long before she nodded off, due to his gentle touch and the feeling of a large weight off her shoulders. After he was sure she slept, Erik removed himself from her room. He needed to think.

Chapter 5

Erik's lips were burning as he touched them. He wanted to laugh. He was finally ready to give her up, to bring them both the closure they so desperately wanted. It seemed her wants were more in line with what his had been. She had kissed him. She had dreamt of him these long months.

He shifted uncomfortably as he remembered the effect her dream had upon him. As she spoke his desire was unendurable and then she kissed him. It was the shock that allowed his cooler senses to prevail.

_What am I to do now?_ Could he have the happy ending that it seemed they both wanted? She wanted him, he knew that now. Whatever barriers had kept her from admitting to her feelings six months ago had dissipated with time and distance. The saying was true, absence did make the heart grow fonder, after all.

But would it be right to do so? What would Father Mansart say? Father Mansart was a friend of Raoul's, but hadn't he said that their marriage might not be the best move? Wouldn't Father Mansart be happy that he had become a member of society that would find love and salvation? _Although I doubt he would have me steal another man's wife-to-be._

How could it be right to tie Christine to a man whom she could never stand in the sunshine with? He was not a handsome prince and he was never going to be. What would people say? Then again, in the face of loving, did it matter what anyone thought except him and Christine?

He touched his lips, remembering the feel of her against him as she clung desperately to him. Why did he feel as though he were one unable to let go?

Christine awoke, early the next morning with a start. Memories surfaced quickly as she realized what it was that happened last night. What had possessed her to behave so foolishly? She had kissed Erik. Erik! She felt overcome by guilt for Raoul who had been so utterly good and faithful to her. On top of which she felt fear. Erik would surely believe she had feelings for him, feelings she did not want to think about.

Suddenly she felt weary, weary of being pulled between these two men. How could she reconcile her feelings for both men and stay sane? Her love for Raoul and her mysterious feelings for the man who had taught, manipulated and loved her were pulling her apart. It was no wonder she had been so ill for so long.

No longer. She would no longer let this happen. She needed to get away, to run away. She needed a life separate from both men. How could she grow as a wife if she was not yet a person? Moving towards the writing desk in her room, she found her travel papers along with the train ticket Raoul had provided. The ticket was open ended so Christine could use it now, tomorrow, any time. She needed to use it now before her cowardice got the better of her. Taking a moment to write out notes to Raoul (apologizing) and Meg she packed a small valise with some clothing and a few valuables on which to live for a few weeks, she fled the resort, hiring a hack to take her to the train station.

Since his visits with Father Mansart, Erik truly had tried to curb his habit of spying on people. It seemed as though he fell into these opportunities. Erik liked being out at dawn. There were few people out to see him and he had not been to the ocean in a very long time. The sun was peaking out from beneath the horizon lighting up the ocean before him. Erik longed to take off his mask and feel the sun warm his skin. He imagined what it would be like to do that with Christine by his side.

The sound of footsteps behind him made him realize that people were beginning to emerge. With a heavy heart he covered his face with a hood and turned to leave. As he rose he noticed the small form that had just passed behind him. Christine – wearing a determine expression and carrying a valise.

_What in the world is she doing?_

She was leaving! She was running away! How could she? How dare she do that to him after last night? How dare she give him hope and snatch it away in such a barbaric manner? Ah, this was the Christine he knew! This was the little coward who had broken his heart.

_Not again. Not this time._

Stealthily, Erik snuck behind her, following stealthily. She hired a hack to take her to the train station, which he followed in a hack of his own. He watched her every move as she arranged travel to Switzerland – her childhood home he realized. The train was in two hours. He purchased his own ticket and quickly retrieved his belongings from the hotel. He would not let her run this time.

Christine ate her meal in the dining car sparingly. Her stomach was doing flips, but she was strangely excited. This was freedom. This was a life free of spies and observation. This was what she had been missing.

She made her way to her car. Would she be able to sleep tonight? She did not have a migraine, but she was very excited. The air around her seemed to hum with energy. She entered her room hoping she had remembered to back the novel she had been reading.

"Good evening, Mademoiselle." Erik's voice spoke from the berth. "And how was your dinner, this evening?"

"Erik!" She gasped. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing. Imagine my surprise this morning when I spied you running from the hotel."

"You were spying on me?" She asked outraged.

"No. This time I am not guilty of spying. I was watching the ocean and you passed right behind me. It seems you are not very careful… or perhaps you wanted me to see?" He smiled.

"Not spying, I find that difficult to believe from the man who followed me to Nice!" She yelled and turned to leave the cabin.

Erik placed a hand on the door, blocking her exit.

"Enough! Enough of these games. You owe me an explanation for last night and you full well know it." He stared at her coldly.

"It was a moment of insanity. I can't imagine what I was thinking." She said shortly, turning her back on him.

"Perhaps last night you were not thinking, something I am very grateful for, but what of your dreams, Christine?" Erik asked hotly. He then realized that this was perhaps not the best tactic at getting her to reveal her feelings. He softened and walked up behind her, their bodies only inches apart. He lowered his voice and whispered in her ear, brushing the hair away from her neck. "What of your dreams?"

He began to sing low in her ear, before she could move away. "The bridge is crossed so stand and watch it burn…"

He heard her gasp, but she did not move away. "It was a silly dream." She spoke without confidence, her words coming out breathy and soft.

"Silly? I think not." Erik pressed the words against her ear, his lips gently caressing the sensitive spot. "If it is so silly, why do you run?" He snaked an arm around abdomen, holding her against him lightly. She did not push him away, but he felt the tension running through her.

_Gently… gently…_ He thought to himself.

"I promise you, Christine, there is nothing silly about my desire for you." His lips placed soft, open mouth kisses on the bare skin of her throat, feeling her pulse jump under the pressure of his lips. He made love to her neck like that for a few moments and returned to whisper in her ear, seducing her with his voice. Christine let her head fall back against him, her eyes falling closed, her willpower destroyed.

"You've had dreams of my making love to you. I have the same dreams. In my dreams you are singing my name as I touch you, here…" and he let his hand wander over her breasts, "and here…" His fingers briefly caressed the fabric over her mound. He imagined the moisture gathering there and felt himself rise behind her. "Would you like me to tell you those dreams?"

"This can't happen…" She whispered as his fingers lightly circled her breast. Her nipples became hard and he began to roll the tip between his thumb and forefinger. "Erik…" she whispered, but it was a moan.

"Can't it? You only have to say so and I will make both our dreams come true." He resumed kissing her neck and her bear shoulders. His other hand began to toy with the material of her dress, undoing buttons and ribbons until it sank against her, near to falling off. With the gown loose, he was able to slip his hand beneath the neckline of her gown to massage her breasts. Christine moaned, but shook her head, "No, we can't…we…oh God…"

"Perhaps…" he smiled against her skin, "You need me to persuade you further." Erik removed his hands and a moment later her gown fell to the floor. Erik kissed a line down her spine, untying her corset as he did so. His fingers were so nimble and it was so easy for Christine to fall into the feelings he brought her. She hardly noticed when her corset was removed and Erik laid her down on the berth.

The berth was narrow and not his first choice for the situation, but here it was and he was not going to complain. Erik lay half way atop her and suckled her breasts. Christine's moans became more passionate, but she did not actively participate in their lovemaking. It occurred to Erik that she needed to defend herself by not admitting her desire. That would soon change.

He kissed his way lower, letting his tongue flirt with her navel, while his hands sought to remove her drawers. He encountered wetness and inserted a finger inside her. Christine cried out, bucking off the mattress. Erik steadied her with his hand on her stomach. He crouched between her legs and then began to kiss her, there, where she could not deny him. How long did he love her like that? He could tell when she was poised on the brink of climax for he moved up to stare her in the face.

"Are you ready to admit your desire?" He forced her chin in his direction so that their eyes met. "Tell me, Christine. Tell me you desire me."

"Erik, please." She whispered.

"Tell me." He encouraged. "Tell me who you belong to." And just to make her suffer, his fingers teased with that spot between her legs where she was saturated.

"You, I belong to you." She moaned.

"Yes…" His eyes gleamed with triumph. He resumed his examination of her body and it was not long before he brought her to a soul wrenching climax. She cried out softly, her entire body convulsing in Erik's arms. Her eyes met his as she fell down to earth and she never felt safer as she rested naked in his arms.

"Erik…" she whispered. What could she say? He kissed her temple and then her lips, softly, tenderly.

"Sleep, Christine. We can speak in the morning." And he held her, stroking her back until she slept in his arms.


End file.
